


Helvegr

by manic_intent



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hades, Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, M/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Repeated non-permanent deaths, Spoilers for the end fight of Hades, That Norse!Hades game AU where Reinhard is effectively Zagreus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Reinhard rose from the pool of blood, the viscous, warm fluid dripping off his hair and over his armour. It ebbed quickly off his skin as he walked through the line of shades. Real blood would’ve caked under his nails after a bath like that, matted his golden hair to his cheeks. By the time Reinhard strode through the hall of waiting ghosts to the front of the throne, he was dry.
Relationships: Reinhard von Lohengramm/Yang Wenli
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Helvegr

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geraineon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geraineon/gifts).



> Donation prompt by @beingevil for @geraineon, who asked for Reinyang, Greek Gods AU. Well, since I’m playing Hades right now, I might as well do a Hades!LOGH story. You won’t need to know anything about Hades to read this, though this fic will technically spoiler the game’s final boss. 
> 
> With the LOGH names as they were, the story kinda became more of a Norse/Hades mash-up than an actual Greek mythology story—I tried a few attempts, but it turned out too weird to have someone called ‘Reinhard’ running around when half the chars have Greek names and half of them have Germanic names. 
> 
> Since @beingevil’s ship in Hades is Zagreus/Thanatos, at first I was thinking of making Yang Death, but tbh he’s more of an Athena character than anything. Not that it’d work out either, given the context of the game. So I guess this is a story about the Aspect of Guan Yu on the spear (in this story: the Aspect of Yang), which, despite how dependent it is on lucking into Quick Spin on the Daedalus Hammer, has become one of my faves.

Reinhard rose from the pool of blood, the viscous, warm fluid dripping off his hair and over his armour. It ebbed quickly off his skin as he walked through the line of shades. Real blood would’ve caked under his nails after a bath like that, matted his golden hair to his cheeks. By the time Reinhard strode through the hall of waiting ghosts to the front of the throne, he was dry. 

The Goddess Hel gave him barely a glance. Seated behind her fortress of a desk, piled high with vellum books and manuscripts, the giantess studied the paperwork before her. Grotesque in countenance—half corpse, half beautiful woman—Hel’s frown creased only part of her face as Reinhard folded his arms before her throne.

“What is it?” Hel asked, brusque as ever. 

“You sent the Twin Ramparts to block my way at Nágrindr,” Reinhard said, his stare accusing.

Hel sniffed. “You got past Helgrindr easily enough. I thought you deserved more of a challenge at Nágrindr. There’ll be a greater one awaiting you at Valgrindr, should you manage to bypass your friends.” 

“You’d dare.”

“If you want to steal your half-sister out of Asgard, you’d have to be stronger than this. Past the Ramparts, you’d have to fight your way through Valhalla. Every shade residing in that realm will be as good as they are. Leave. You’ve wasted enough of my time.” Hel made a dismissive gesture. 

Scowling, Reinhard stormed past the contractor’s desk beside Hel’s throne, ignoring the sprawling lounge and the walled garden. The labyrinthine interior of Hel’s palace rearranged itself as Reinhard walked, the walls of calcified bones and shifting tapestries opening to the archway that led to Reinhard’s chambers. He ignored it, walking on until the palace admitted him into the Infernal Armoury.

The Armoury looked sparse to the uninitiated, but Reinhard knew this was only a small aspect of it—the part that it had chosen to show Reinhard. A steel case of trophies and keepsakes adorned part of the wall, while weapons encircled a sparring square, floating over their appointed dais. Reinhard returned the sword, Skofnung, to its stand. It shuddered as it rose into its place. 

At the centre of the sparring ground, a shade materialised and grew solid. The skeletal creature took one look at Reinhard’s expression and chuckled. “What got you this time, boy?” 

Reinhard glared at Ganglati, but it was never worth getting angry at the cursed walker. His lot in death, after all, was far worse than Reinhard’s—locked to the Armoury with little to do but keep its various armaments maintained. Small wonder he’d consented to be Reinhard’s sparring partner—anything to break up the tedium, he’d said. 

“Oskar and Wolfgang,” Reinhard said.

“Ah, truly? I heard they left the Palace. Wasn’t sure why. Well. You’re already a better warrior than they are, when they’re apart. It’d just be a matter of time for you to be better than them as they are together.” 

“Thank you. For the vote of confidence,” Reinhard said, swallowing his temper. 

Ganglati was one of the few people left in Hel’s palace who was willing to be kind to him—a troublemaker of a godling. The only one who’d dared to object to Hel allowing one of Odin’s sons to take Annerose away. So much for the Goddess keeping what she was owed. Something that’d applied to Baldur hadn’t applied to Reinhard’s sister. 

“Something changed in the Arms when you walked in,” Ganglati said as Reinhard turned to return to his chambers. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t describe it. They feel different somehow. Take a closer look.” 

Frowning, Reinhard put a palm out toward Skofnung. The sword rematerialised in his palm. It did feel different, now that he was concentrating. Hungrier. He’d felt this hunger before—whenever he passed Helgrindr. The reward for reaping past the first plane of Hel’s domain: a droplet of Ymir’s blood. He groped in his pockets, pouring one of the vials down Skofnung’s flank. It shivered, its form twisting. Willing Reinhard to give it further shape.

“Look at that,” Ganglati said, peering over Reinhard’s shoulder.

“What did that do?” 

“These things have memories, of a sort,” Ganglati said, glancing at the other weapons. “Aspects. Not quite spirits, but something similar. You might be able to unlock something unexpected if you keep doing what you did.” 

“Why didn’t this happen before?” Reinhard asked, turning the malformed blade in his hands. He could almost see other shapes bound within its familiar form, other blade-forms that were just as hungry for the blood he held in his pouch. 

“Maybe they didn’t think you worth showing themselves to until now,” Ganglati said. 

Reinhard glowered at Ganglati, but the cursed walker had already begun busying himself by dusting down the keepsakes case. Setting Skofnung back in its place, Reinhard gave each weapon a taste of blood. The shield, Naegling, seemed to chuckle as Reinhard poured blood over its snarling surface. The bow, Ichaival, hummed. Dainsleif made a mournful sound, the fingers of the great gauntlet curling and uncurling as the blood seeped into its palms. Tyrfing, the Rail, coughed and growled. 

Gungnir went silent. Puzzled, Reinhard drew the great spear from its position, studying it. Some impulse had him pour more blood down its shaft, then again when it stayed quiet. At the third vial, the spear hissed in his grip. Its steel shaft warped and split, scales sprouting down a serpentine length that uncoiled down its length and crouched closer to its flattening blade. A horned snake of some sort, with five-toed feet. 

As Reinhard took a closer look at its alien, tusked visage, an unfamiliar voice beside him said, “That was unexpected.” 

Reinhard jerked back, raising Gungnir into a ready position. The intruder smiled, amused and not in the least intimidated. His strange countenance gave Reinhard pause—the stranger looked nothing like any other shade or person Reinhard had ever seen. He wasn’t as tall as Reinhard, and was dressed in odd blue and white robes of an unfamiliar design. A crested, ribbed hat adorned his head, under which an unruly black fringe escaped, brushing dark eyes. He held a feathered fan in one hand with a wooden handle and long red tassel that brushed at his sleeves, and he didn’t have the wan look of a shade. 

“Who are you?” Reinhard demanded. He looked over at Ganglati, but the servant had disappeared. 

“I should be asking you that,” the intruder said, gesturing at Reinhard with his fan, “seeing as you’ve woken me up long before I was meant to be awake, in a form that I’m not meant to possess.” 

Reinhard looked from Gungnir to the intruder. “You are the spirit of Gungnir?” 

“I don’t know the weapon you hold as ‘Gungnir’,” said the stranger, “and for your reference, my name is Yang Wenli. Call me Yang.” 

“Reinhard,” Reinhard said, looking Yang slowly over. “What manner of place are you from?” 

“Somewhere far from here, in a time long from now,” Yang said. He circled Reinhard, studying his armour with open curiosity. “This is an underworld of some form, isn’t it?” 

“Helheim. The domain of the Goddess Hel.” 

“You are a shade?” 

“No,” Reinhard said, with an ugly curl to his mouth. “I am something… complicated.”

#

Yang leant against the great mirror in Reinhard’s rooms, absently fanning himself. “So your father is a servant.”

“A retainer, but yes. Little more than a servant.” Reinhard sat on the bed. He wouldn’t usually take any of the Infernal Arms here with him—it felt disrespectful to the ancient weapons—but he wasn’t sure whether Yang could manifest too far from Gungnir. 

“While your sister’s mother is another retainer.”

“One of the housekeepers.” Caribelle had always been uneasy near Reinhard, refusing to be drawn into conversation. Reinhard didn’t blame her. Besides, he knew she tried to help him in her small way. Reinhard sometimes found little gifts left on his desk after she cleaned his room. Underworld coins for his next escape attempt. It was never much, but they must have been hard for a housekeeper to come by. 

“But _your_ mother is the Goddess Hel. Ruler of this place.” Yang’s fan paused in mid-air. “However did that come about?”

“In the usual way, I presume.” Reinhard didn’t often like to think of it himself. “My mother gave me to my father to raise after I was born. Neither of them like to discuss it, but I see Hel take lovers now and then among her subjects. They never linger all that long in her bed.”

“Do you have a lot of siblings, then?”

“Not at all. As far as I’m aware, I’m her only child. The pregnancy was a surprise for everyone.” 

“That makes you a god as well, doesn’t it?”

“Something close.” 

“Complicated, you say.” Yang smiled. A warm smile, by the way things went, but not one that was all that kind. The smile of a man who loved complications. “Interesting.” 

“Either way,” Reinhard said, unsettled by the smile, “I need to make it to the surface. My mother has put obstacles in my path at every turn.”

“I presume she doesn’t want to offend whatever God she gave your half-sister to.” Yang tilted his head, making a show of studying Reinhard’s room and its enclosing stone walls. “Are you sure that your sister wants to come back? To the Underworld? Surely this Asgard place, your Heaven, is more pleasant than this domain.”

“I’d rather hear that from her lips than assume.” Reinhard clenched his fist. “Besides, some of the Gods of Asgard have grown intrigued by my quest, and have offered aid now and then.”

“Can’t they tell you how your sister is faring?” 

“They claim she is content, but I wouldn’t trust their word. There is another God who resides in this realm as well—Baldur, a mentor and a friend. He’s counselled me to do the same. To reach Asgard and see things for myself.” 

Yang exhaled. “Ah, what a mess. I’ll help you, I suppose. Not that I have much choice, since you hold that.” 

“Are you a great warrior of some sort? Or will be?” Reinhard could always do with more sparring practice, even though Sigurd himself had trained him.

“I don’t know what I am or what I will be. You do appear familiar to me, however. But perhaps that’s due to our existing association.” Yang drifted closer, scrutinising Reinhard’s face. “Perhaps we were meant to be friends? Or will be. Time is strange to a spirit, if that’s what I am.”

“I hope to be,” Reinhard said. He had few friends here because of what he was. “What manner of creature is this, by the way?” He raised the spear, running his fingertips over the four-legged serpent’s scales.

Yang flinched, stiffening. He composed himself by hiding his face behind the fan, but not before Reinhard saw him blush. “I… that is a dragon. Can’t you tell?”

“It certainly isn’t a dragon,” Reinhard said, jerking his hands away from the scales. “Sigurd, another mentor of mine, has slain a dragon. He described the creature to me in detail.” 

“Does this Sigurd of yours know everything there is to know? In every part of the world there is?”

“… No,” Reinhard conceded, embarrassed. “I should not have presumed you to be wrong. Forgive me.” 

“What’s there to forgive?” Yang patted Reinhard on the head with his fan with a smile. “Don’t be so serious.”

Reinhard nearly slapped the fan away. Something made him smile back instead, the knot in his gut easing for the first time since Annerose had disappeared. Yang’s presence soothed him, somehow. “All right.”

“Now. Did you have a map of the way out of here? Surely you have some sort of strategy for your escapes.” 

“Not exactly. You’ll see.”

#

Reinhard grumbled as he trudged out of the bloody pool. The Ramparts were going to be challenging to beat. He stalked past his mother’s throne without bothering to greet her, though her sharp laugh followed him as he pushed through the shades. It made Reinhard’s fists clench up.

Once Reinhard walked out of sight of the throne room, Yang manifested, looking strained and pale. “You…! You live again,” Yang said. He gripped Reinhard’s arm, or tried to—his hand slipped through his skin. Yang jerked it back, looking away. “Sorry.” 

“No, I…” Reinhard trailed off. He forced a smile. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met to get upset over one of my deaths.” 

“You mean this is normal for you?” Yang looked agitated. “How many times now?” 

“I’ve lost track. I could build a scrying pool and find out, but I think I’ll save myself the pain for now.” 

Yang chewed on his lower lip as Reinhard continued to walk, keeping pace beside him. “This can’t be… all right. I see what you mean. This Underworld is a labyrinth of some sort. Dangerous, but not insurmountable. These two people you met at the second boundary, however—”

“Oskar and Wolfgang? They were… friends of mine. Or I thought they were.” 

“Must be rough,” Yang said, sympathetic. “Don’t they know what happened to your sister?” 

“They do. They’re still under orders.” Reinhard’s lip curled. “I presume there’d be a greater foe waiting for me at the next boundary, and the next.” 

“That woman at the first boundary, Helgrindr, was formidable enough. She seemed to know you as well.” 

“Brunnhildr? Yes. A Valkyrie. We were… familiar before.” 

“Ah, more complications,” Yang said. He didn’t sound as pleased about these, falling silent as they walked. 

Reinhard hesitated outside his room. “Do you want me to put you back in the Armoury? I don’t usually have to care for the Infernal Arms. The Armoury does that on my behalf.” He didn’t know if Gungnir and the other Arms needed sharpening or care, or if mythological weapons got along on their own without help.

“I’d rather not, but if you wish to, well.” Yang gestured helplessly at the spear. “I’m only a spirit.” 

“You’re good company,” Reinhard disagreed. He ate quickly in the lounge and located a whetstone, oil, and a cleaning cloth from the stores. Gungnir didn’t appear to need any care, but in Yang’s presence, Reinhard felt awkward not making an attempt. Yang shivered as Reinhard sharpened the blade and wiped it down, turning away to face the wall as Reinhard did what he could to wipe down the dragon’s scales, chasing out grime from the claws and delicate horns. 

“Is this uncomfortable?” Reinhard asked, trying to work quickly.

“Not exactly,” Yang said indistinctly. He exhaled in relief once Reinhard was done—he’d been lying—and turned, already composed, when Reinhard set whetstone and cloth aside. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?” 

“The blood you used to wake up the spear—it helps. The weapon you hold is a hungry thing.” 

“I felt that.” Reinhard had been hoping to use the rest of the blood on the other weapons, especially Skofnung, his preferred blade of the Arms. Under Yang’s keen stare, however, he spent the rest of his hoarded droplets on Gungnir, feeding it into the blade. Yang made a strange sound, his eyes unfocusing as he hid his mouth behind his fan. “Yang?”

“Ngh…” Yang breathed shallowly. “That did something, I think.” 

Gungnir did feel stronger, though the blood hadn’t dampened its thirst. “Good,” Reinhard said, hoping Yang was right.

“Meanwhile. The Ramparts defend each other when they’re together, but Oskar tends to chase after you when Wolfgang hangs back with his spear. If you can kite Oskar far enough in that chamber, perhaps you can finish him off behind one of the pillars before Wolfgang gets close.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Reinhard said, having duelled Oskar before, growing up. “However, Oskar is a fine swordsman on his own. His guard has few openings.”

“We’ll make more,” Yang said.

“You and me?” Reinhard asked, amused. “What, you’ll manifest out there?” 

“I would if I thought it would help, but I don’t want to get in your way. No. I meant myself and Gungnir. It’s as hungry for victory as you are.” 

“I don’t see what else it can do to help, but I’m listening.”

#

As Reinhard pulled the spear out of Wolfgang’s back, the body dissipated into the ground, melting into stone. Reinhard leant on Gungnir, breathing in lungfuls of hot, sulphuric air. Taking in a shaky breath, he forged forward toward the boat that awaited him at the end of the duelling space.

In the boundary space between Nágrindr and Valgrindr, the air grew chilly. As Reinhard drank from the fountain and washed his face, his wounds healing, Yang said, “That was somehow upsetting.”

“My victory was upsetting?” Reinhard asked without looking up. 

“The bodies melting.” 

“You saw that with Brunnhildr,” Yang pointed out. 

“She cursed you each time she went. Wolfgang looked proud. When you speared him in the back, severing his spine.” 

“He would be,” Reinhard said. Oskar had laughed when Reinhard’s awkward spear throw had righted itself in mid-air, plunging through his ribcage. “You helped this time.” 

“I’m beginning to see how, thanks to the extra blood,” Yang said. He looked troubled, his arms folded, his fan tucked against his chest. 

“What’s wrong, then?” 

“I don’t know. There’s something that doesn’t feel right. The closer that we come to the surface.” Yang looked up at the rock above them.

“What do you mean?” 

“The air,” Yang said. He began to say more and swallowed the words, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Shall we? Or do you need more time?”

“I’ve caught my breath,” Reinhard said. As he walked past Yang, Yang disappeared, his presence easing into the spear. It seemed to shudder in Reinhard’s grip as he absently tickled the coiled tail of the dragon, but went quiet as he forged upward. On to Valhalla.

#

Reinhard swore under his breath as he hauled himself out of the pool. “Made it to Valhalla, I see,” Hel said from her throne without looking up.

“Why do you keep sending the few friends I have to face me?” Reinhard spat as he got to the throne. 

“It gives everyone space to consider the notion of friendship,” Hel said. The corpse half of her face smiled as Reinhard glared at her, stalking off to his chambers. 

Sigurd. It had to be Sigurd, of all people. His trainer and mentor had looked apologetic when Reinhard had walked into the coliseum. Even more so when Reinhard had stared at the creature beside him. In death, Fafnir the dragon looked less of a gigantic winged serpent and more like something half man and half dragon, with the head of a horned lizard. Scales, claws, and fangs to match, with a sinuous spiked tail that he could use like a whip. Worse, the _fire_. Reinhard had died screaming as he burned. 

Foul as Reinhard’s mood was, he laughed when Yang manifested in his room with a thoughtful, “I see what you mean about your dragons. They are not at all like the ones I know.”

“Fafnir isn’t meant to look like that,” Reinhard said, sitting wearily down on the bed. “Sigurd described him as a huge, winged lizard. The fire was the only thing he still had in common with the tale.”

“An exaggeration, then?”

“I don’t believe so. Fafnir said something about it being a preferred form.” Right before he’d spat out a plume of fire at Reinhard.

“They seemed friendly,” Yang said with a frown. “As though they’d known each other since death.” 

“I saw that.” Sigurd wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the halls—likely still in Valhalla—but Reinhard made a mental note to locate him and get the story out of him after. 

“Does your mother have that much love for Asgard?” Yang asked, puzzled. “Surely not. She’s trapped here too, isn’t she?”

“She should have no love for Asgard. Asgard imprisoned her brothers. Entombed her father in a way in a way that will torture him for millennia, until Ragnarok. At the end of the world, it’s prophesied that she will fight the Gods of Asgard along with her siblings and father, and die in the attempt.” 

“So why stop you from heading there?” 

“I don’t know. It isn’t on my behalf, whatever it is. Or my sister’s. I know her too well.” Reinhard scowled as he flopped down onto his bed, folding his arms behind his golden hair. 

Yang sat on the bed beside him. “Have you tried talking to her?” 

“Many times. As you’ve seen so far, she has no love for me.” 

Yang hummed. “Something doesn’t quite line up.” 

“I suppose not.” Reinhard closed his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap. Then we should try again.” 

“You could use one of your other Arms. If you feel it might help.”

Reinhard glanced up at Yang, who was staring at the mirror. “Tired of me already?” 

“No. Not at all. It’s just.” Yang mumbled something under his breath.

“It’s just what?” 

“The dragon,” Yang said, after an embarrassed pause. “Could you maybe. Stop touching it? It’s very unsettling.” 

“Oh.” Reinhard began to apologise, but Yang disappeared, his fan flicking over his mouth. Alone, Reinhard stared at the spear that he’d set to lean against the wall. The way Yang kept blushing… 

“Interesting,” Reinhard said to himself.

#

“How can you stand it?” Yang demanded as Reinhard died for the eighth time in Valhalla. Not roasted this time, just decapitated. At least it’d been quick.

“It isn’t personal,” Reinhard said as he sat on the bed. Sigurd and Fafnir had made that clear. 

“How can it not be _personal_? I—” Yang cut himself off, looking away and rubbing his eyes with a low sound of frustration. 

“Yang.” Reinhard tried to touch Yang’s shoulder, but his hand slipped through. “Death is different in this realm. Meaningless.” 

“Only to the people who don’t have to watch you die,” Yang said. He sounded subdued, holding himself tightly. “During your next attempt, use another weapon. Please.” 

“All right,” Reinhard said, trying to keep his disappointment from showing in his voice. Yang flinched anyway, his hand going white-knuckled over his fan.

#

Without Gungnir, Reinhard died again to the Ramparts, who looked surprised. “Where’s that spear of yours?” Oskar could be heard to ask just as Reinhard choked on his blood and passed out. He tried amplifying the other weapons the way he had Gungnir, but no other spirits awakened. Somehow, during his next attempt, Reinhard clawed his way past the Ramparts with Skofnung, but it was a near thing.

Warrior-shades in Valhalla slew Reinhard before he got to Sigurd. It took three more attempts before he reached the dragon and the dragonslayer again. Fafnir huffed in surprise at the sight of the blade, while Sigurd frowned. He said nothing until Reinhard lay dying from his wounds, propped against a pillar.

“Where is Gungnir?” Sigurd asked.

“Why does everyone ask me that question?” Reinhard gasped in between harsh breaths. 

Fafnir snorted, clouds of steam emerging from his scaled muzzle. “There has been a quarrel, perhaps. Between the short one and the spear-spirit.” 

“Oh.” Sigurd bent, looking soberly into Reinhard’s eyes. “I hope you resolve it, whatever it is. Skofnung is hungry for blood, but it doesn’t desire victory. Only violence. The same drive resides in each of the Infernal Arms you bear. Only Gungnir seems different. It wants to protect you.”

“I—” Reinhard began, only to black out. He reawakened in the pool, cursing so loudly that Hel tutted from her throne. 

Reinhard stormed off to the Armoury. He returned Skofnung to the dais and clenched his fists as he looked at Gungnir. Reinhard reached for it, only to hesitate at the last moment. He turned to Ichaival instead, but before he could pick up the bow, Yang said, “Reinhard.” 

A glance behind him showed an empty room. “Yang?” 

“Can you hear me?” Yang sounded softer. “Are you there?” 

Had Yang been calling for him all this time? Reinhard hadn’t lingered in the Armoury since returning Gungnir to its dais. He pulled it from the display, the spear shivering under his grip. Yang materialised beside Reinhard, smiling in relief. “There you are.” 

Reinhard couldn’t help but return the smile. “I missed you.” 

“That day, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it was within your right. The Arms don’t have masters, they—”

“Listen to me for a while, all right?” Yang cut in. As Reinhard nodded slowly, Yang opened his mouth, paused, then let out a wry laugh, fanning himself. “Never mind. I’d just. Rather not say it yet. I’ll wait until we get to the surface.” 

“You want me to wield you again?” 

“If that’s all right. I think I understand it now. Why you’re willing to go through this again and again.” 

“The surface,” Reinhard promised, “then, Asgard.”

#

Gungnir felt lighter in his grip, its interventions quicker. Reinhard blazed through to Valhalla with what felt like little effort. Fafnir chuckled as he saw the spear, Sigurd raising his blade to a guard position. They fought just as well as before, but newly attuned as Gungnir was to Reinhard’s will, it was no longer enough.

“Well done,” Sigurd whispered as Reinhard slew his mentor for the first time. Maybe not the last. As Reinhard ascended to the gate of Valgrindr, Gungnir hummed with anticipation in his grip.

The surface was bitingly cold. Winter, perhaps. Gungnir pulsed with light once Reinhard walked out into the sun. Reinhard was alone, then he wasn’t—Yang stumbled knee-deep into the snow, wide-eyed. _Solid_. Gawking at Yang, Reinhard very nearly missed the tall, cloaked figure with their back to him, facing the frozen river. 

“Curious,” Hel said as she turned around, looking between Reinhard and Yang. “A godling who should never have been born, and a man displaced out of time. A fine pair.”

“Stand aside, mother,” Reinhard said, stepping protectively in front of Yang. 

Hel exhaled. Her breath plumed into steam only from part of her face, which creased into a frown. Bone armour covered Hel’s arms and torso, and she wore a sword at her hip that Reinhard didn’t recognise. “You’re troublesome. Runs in the family, I suppose.” 

“Speak for yourself, what with you being destined to rebel against the gods. Why bother with all this if you’re going to do that?” 

“All things in their time,” Hel said. She rested her hand on the hilt of her blade. “Do you know what the Asgardians did to your grandfather, boy?” 

“Bound to an altar with a snake dripping poison down upon him forever more,” Reinhard said. He’d heard. 

“They’ll do worse to you if you offend them. Unlike Loki, they have no reason to fear you. Or feel kindly toward you.” 

“Is that why you wanted to keep me in your domain?” Reinhard said, incredulous. “You could’ve stopped all of this if you hadn’t let them take Annerose away. You kept _Baldur_ in your domain. A God beloved by everyone in all the realms save for my spiteful grandfather.” 

“It was Loki’s will for Baldur to remain with me,” Hel said with a dry laugh. “I’m not as powerful as you think: the Allfather is also the God of War for a reason. Go then. I doubt you’d get far. You’d learn soon enough—there is no escape.”

“All this build-up and we aren’t going to fight?” Reinhard asked. He flinched as Yang nudged him and gave him a warning glance. Hel sniffed, turning around again to face the river. As Reinhard and Yang made their way past her, she tensed but said nothing.

#

The surface air felt heavier, somehow. Sweeter. Noticing Yang shivering in the snow, Reinhard removed his furred cloak, draping it over Yang’s shoulders. “You’re fully human?” Reinhard asked.

“I don’t think so.” Yang reached for the spear. Once his fingers drew close to the dragon, they dissipated into mist, seeping into the scales. He laughed. “Just human enough for it to be inconvenient. Is your world meant to be this cold?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve never come this far.” They trudged for an hour through the snow, at which point even the cloak couldn’t stop Yang from shivering. “You could go back into the spear,” Reinhard suggested now and then whenever Yang sneezed. 

“Not yet,” Yang kept saying. He looked around avidly, memorising everything he saw. “The surface. It’s so beautiful.” 

“Here. We’ll take a break,” Reinhard said, spying a cottage past the snow line. The snow eased into soft grass, the winter’s chill bleeding away into a gentle warmth. Reinhard frowned. The cottage looked cared for, given the lush garden, but he didn’t sense anyone close by. Yang sneezed again, and Reinhard decided not to question it, hustling Yang into the cottage. The door was unlocked. 

Reinhard built a fire in the hearth. He turned around just as Yang was stripping out of his wet clothes, draping them over chairs, even pulling off his shoes. Clad in a thin inner robe that clung to his slight frame, his hair free of his hat, it grew even harder for Reinhard to place Yang’s age. He didn’t realise he was staring until Yang turned and noticed. “An unfortunate side-effect of no longer being entirely a spirit,” Yang said, gesturing sheepishly at his clothes. 

“This cottage may have some spare garments.”

“We’re already trespassing. I’d rather not steal.” Yang settled before the hearth in Reinhard’s cloak, stretching out his bare feet. Reinhard sat beside him, the spear across his lap. 

“What did you want to tell me on the surface?” Reinhard asked. 

Yang smiled at him, a little shy, a little determined—and Reinhard knew without having to ask. He leaned in, just as Yang let out a soft laugh, and as they began to kiss before the fire, Yang climbed awkwardly into Reinhard’s lap. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this here,” Yang murmured as they kissed. “There’s something wrong about this cottage.”

“So you noticed.” The cottage looked perfectly in order, and yet it also wasn’t lived in. Yet the pantry was full of hams and produce, much of it fresh. “It doesn’t feel malign.” 

“Not yet, perhaps.” Yang didn’t object further, however. He worked at the buckles and belts of Reinhard’s armour, stacking the pieces to the side even as Reinhard pulled Yang’s robe open, kissing down his throat to his chest. Reinhard groaned as Yang undid the binding on his breeches, tugging them down. He gasped as Yang spat on his palm and grasped him.

“Too fast?” Yang asked, if with a playful smile. 

“You ask me this now?” Reinhard growled, pushing his hips into Yang’s palm. 

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” Yang shot back as he tugged. “I deserve some payback.” 

“The spear?” Reinhard asked, affecting innocence even as he trailed his fingers up the dragon’s back. Yang shivered and yelped, his hand clenching tightly enough around Reinhard that Reinhard winced. 

“Stop that,” Yang said, though he reddened. Reinhard relented, helping Yang with their clothes until they were bare to each other, the hearth at Yang’s back. Reinhard curled his hands around Yang’s, twisting their fingers together over their shafts as they moved against each other in urgent thrusts. Yang bit down against Reinhard’s throat, stifling his moans, his free hand clawing marks over Reinhard’s back. Scars that Reinhard would gladly bear. Still drunk on the sweetness of the air and each other, they spilled quickly, shaking the space between them with their groans. 

As they cleaned up and dressed, Reinhard’s fingers fumbled the buckles on his belt. He frowned, trying to focus, only for the room to swim. “Reinhard!” Yang said, grasping his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” 

“Need… need to lie down,” Reinhard whispered, clutching at Yang’s arms. “I... Yang—”

#

No escape. Reinhard gasped as he trudged out of the blood pool. Disoriented, he stumbled through the first rank of shades, using Gungnir to steady himself as he caught his breath. Yang…? “Yang?” Reinhard asked, looking around wildly.

“Here.” Yang materialised beside Reinhard, looking concerned. “You collapsed.” 

Reinhard reached for Yang and let out a hollow laugh as his palm passed through Yang’s shoulder. Yang turned, kissing his fingertips, then faded as Reinhard stalked up to the front of the line. To where his mother waited, her smile neither cruel nor sympathetic. “Now you know,” Hel said. 

“Your doing?” Reinhard grit out. 

“I don’t have that kind of power. You are bound here. Just as I am. Resign yourself to your fate.”

“I refuse,” Reinhard said, and dared his mother to mock him. 

Hel laughed. She turned back to her manuscripts. “Then I’ll see you on the surface, boy. This time, I won’t let you go so easily.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> donation prompt policy, reading my original work/book, writing process: manicintent.carrd.co  
> \--  
> https://norse-mythology.org/cosmology/the-nine-worlds/helheim/  
> The crouching dragon along Gungnir (臥龍): Zhuge Liang’s nickname ;) Yang’s costume is based on popular imaginings of Zhuge Liang.
> 
> Keen students of Norse Mythology would note that almost every weapon name used in this story belongs to a sword, because I guess the Vikings really liked swords. Ichaival is actually from Fire Emblem lol, but people thought it was actually a thing.


End file.
